Run Not to the Dark
by Cinamon Stick
Summary: Jada Shade has always been hated. It's hard not to hate someone when they rule the Dark. But the Guardians need her when Pitch gets interested in this lonely Girl. She cannot stay in the light, but is the Dark the path she must take? (OC by GirlWonder29)
1. Home

**A/N: This is NOT my OC, but anothers. Her name is GirlWonder29 (a very brilliant writer), and if you like Jada Shade you would take a look at her fic for a slightly lighter version and completely different plot. And before you ask, yes I did get her permission. As always, open to suggestions and LEAVE A REVIEW. dO IT. Not to be pushy or anything *coughs***

Jack Frost is falling to his death.

Well, at least he should be. You would think a hard hit of shadow forcing a stupid winter spirit over the edge of a cliff would surely send him to his demise. But no, of course not. His ice blue eyes are teasing as he rises back up, staff clasped in hand. Damn, he can fly, I just can't catch a break today.

I glare at him and shoot another spell, "_Sicamperforabipruina!" _a long dagger, black against the snow that had accumulated when Jack Frost showed up at this mountainside, sliced toward him. He slammed his staff down, the ice shooting itself against my spell, causing it to shatter.

"Why won't you just listen to me?" he shouts with seeming frustration.

I grip my septor tightly, "Because I already know what you want. I can't help you!" I grit my teeth together against the blizzard he's begun to stir up. Time to get out of here, "_Absconderelinquere umbra,"_

The thing about darkness-it's everywhere. Meaning that I can sink into it whenever needed. This skill has been very useful over the centuries. Shadows engulf me and I sink into them gratefully, glad to ditch this scene.

"No!" Jacks word rings out. But I'm already gone.

The small cottage that I've brought myself to is familiar. Outside is a small grave with the words 'Jade-Anna Sedarcott'. It's mine, that's what the Man in the Moon told me. He hardly ever speaks to me. But that was the first message. Underneath the name is "Burned for Witchcraft"

I am Jada Shade. I don't remember dying, and I don't remember being burned. Witchcraft is explanatory, as when you rely on spells and darkness it's pretty easy to put two and two together.

And so I continue on with eternity.

Outside it's dawn, the landscape slowly fading from dark blue to grey with the lighting horizon. I should be moving on soon; I hate to be anywhere during the day. So I find myself running from the sun. But for now I have time.

It's cool and dark here, with two empty beds against the wall to my right and two to my left, with a small table in the center. It was old, very old. 'Home' was the second message from the Moon when I took my first shaky steps through that rusted doorway. Sorry excuse for a home. On the wall is a portrait of me, drawn with a charcoal pencil, sitting under the moon. Who drew it, that I've never known; there's no signature. Just my name written in a child's script near the corner.

Underneath each bed is a tunnel that leads down, far to what I know is that Pitch Blacks home. Some, like the Guardians, may be bothered by this. Not me. I have no reason to fear Black, no reason to trust him either. For as long as I can remember our meetings have him scarce, usually with a curt, "Shade," from him and a distracted wave from me. He's much less annoying as most spirits.

But that's the thing, isn't it? Everyone else hates me. Darkness, that's what I am. Hard to love, even harder not to fear. How can I expect the world to except me when I can't even come to like myself?

I've been here to long and the stinging rays of sunlight are filtering in through the cracks in the boarded up windows. With a slim look at my room (as I had come to think of it) I lifted into the air, letting the wind take me as far away from the day as possible.


	2. Trick or Treat

**A/N: Hi, sorry for abandoning fanfiction for so long. I know, it's a bit short but this scene was needed. I like the beginning at least. Leave a review. Now.**

Silence is a lot of things, golden, soft, breathable, thinkable. People don't have enough silence. They block it with music and sociality and electricity. To them silence was a rare thing.

I think silence is annoying.

No, so much more than annoying. It was heartbreaking and wretched and distancing. It's the moment when I hear a child's laugh and want to join it. It's when I know something that I cannot tell. It's when I want to reach out and touch someone; to stop them or whisper to them what they must hear. But I can't. I'm banished to silence.

So all I can do is watch as the children pass me in their bright costumes. I'm perched on a roof top overlooking a small street lined with orange trimmed foliage that crinkled under their small feet. This is my day, Halloween as they call it now. Funny how humans look for this darkness so much as to dedicate a day to me. This is the only time I'm ever acknowledged.

A little girl in a pink tutu and bunny ears toddles to the front door of the house I'm on. I slide to a laying down position and peek over the edge as she rings the doorbell. Her parents are watching from the street with her younger brother. The door opens and her small voice says, "Trick or Treat,"

"Trick or Treat" just about sums me up. Well, at least the first half. I let the shadows grow and compete with the orange light from the candles so that the street looks light a night sky.

I hear someone yelling and sit up, grasping my staff and reaching the ground in an instant. I run, faster than I would by wind, around the corner to find an aggravating scene.

Two teenage boys, larger than me, are trying to tug the candy out of the little girls hands.

"No!" she cries out as one of them wretches it away. They start to run away from her, laughing as they went. But I don't let them make it far. The shadow of a tree branch circles the one holding the candy, and he falls to the blacktop with a satisfying thud. I knock the other one upside the head and he stumbles in confusion. To him, the world has gone dark as a layer of black covers his vision. The little girls watches in awe as I pick up the bag of candy and place it at her feet. To her, it magically floated through the air to reach her.

Now I step toward the one sprawled on the ground and whisper in his ear, "Never again. Now run,"

I think her heard me as he scrambles up, dragging his temporarily blinded friend down the street. They'll be fine in a few minutes.

Now I turn to the little girl. She watches them leave with big, confused but happy eyes. Looking right through me. Then she picks up the bag and walks home. I spot the name "Sylvia" stenciled on it. You're welcome, Sylvia.

"Nice show," an Australian accent comes from behind me. I whirl around and find him. The Easter Bunny, six and a half feet tall and covered in grey fur, armed with two boomerangs and a wit that was almost as annoying as Jack Frosts.

I glare at him, "What do you want? Frost already tried me,"

He eyes me with those green eyes of his, sizing me up and undoubtedly seeing if he could take me. People underestimate me more often than they should, "You're gonna have to come with me, Shada'"

I laugh, whirling my staff and creating a black mist around me that spun to my heels, lifting me into the air, "Oh Mr. Fluffy, as if that would ever happen,"

He snarls and pulls out his boomerangs, leaping to the bough of a nearby tree. Bad move. I wrap its shadow around his ankle and trap him there as I rise higher, "You forget Rodger Rabbit that I am everywhere. I can trickle through the cracks and there's no way to catch me,"

But to my surprise he watches me with disappointment, "Tooth," he mutters.

Someone grabs me by the shoulder in an iron grip. I whirl around to see the Tooth Fairy decked with gold and teal feathers with her army of hummingbirds behind her. I try to pull away but she hooks my arms in hers, trapping me. The black smoke disappears as I struggle to free myself. How was she this strong? She was a fairy!

"Sorry, sorry," she murmured as she pulled us back to the ground. A small man made from gold sand stepped out from behind a tree, his face apologetic as he threw an orb of sand at me, and darkness overtook my vision. Damn you, Sandman. A forced sleep.

I knew I wouldn't dream. I never dream, and I never have nightmares. For me, sleep was nothingness. The last thing I registered was the Easter Bunny's irritating smirk as I drifted away.


End file.
